I’d found him sick and shivering, nursed him back to health, and then gave him the space he needed.
That was three days ago.
He never even said thank you.
Not that I had any reason to expect him to. This was Sam I was talking about, a well-known monster.
While I knew he wouldn’t hand me over to the authorities in a red satin ribbon, I also didn’t trust him with the information of what I was doing with my medical degree. Why did I share with him my story of Ms. B, then?
Because you love him, mon cheri, and when you love someone, you want them to get to know you, so maybe they’ll fall for you, too.
Well, Sam was obviously feeling much better, seeing as he was clubbing with my selfish brothers tonight.
I stopped in front of Badlands, dragged the trash bag out, and rounded the building, toward the back door leading to Sam’s office.
I knew better than to knock. Which was why I took the tweezers out of the trash bag and tampered with the lock. It was a simple lock, and I had the advantage of knowing what I was doing. I’d broken into my brothers’ rooms plenty of times when I was younger. I was bored and alone in the impossibly large, looming Avebury Court Manor.
Sometimes, my only company was other people’s things. Toys and gadgets I had found under their beds. I’d even pretended the women gracing the covers of Penthouse and Playboy—found under Hunter’s bed—were my girlfriends.
The door hissed open with a soft click, and I trampled inside. Sam’s office was dark and empty. I threw the door open and headed downstairs, the music pounding from the club making the floor quake.
I wasn’t interested in the club, though. I headed straight to the card rooms. As soon as I reached the junction of the four card rooms, I peeked into each of them. It wasn’t hard to find my brothers. They were in the last one. It was the noisiest, most boisterous room, filled wall-to-wall with men wearing tuxedos, smoking Cuban cigars and drinking old whiskey, huddled around roulette and craps tables.
Cillian was in the corner of the room, talking animatedly with Devon, while Hunter was next to Sam by the roulette.
The Monster looked brand-new, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth as he barked at his employees, no hint of his previous, sweaty, fever-ridden self in sight.
Swaggering inside, the trash bag flung over my shoulder like I was Santa delivering presents on Christmas Day, I stopped in the center of the room and emptied the content of the trash bag in the middle of the roulette table, a smile on my face.
Everyone, and I do mean everyone, gasped.
Everyone other than Sam.
Hunter was the first to recover from my little stint.
“Holy shitballs, sis. Way to make an entrance.” He whistled low, reaching for the center of the roulette table to grab a pack of mints I’d thrown in there accidentally, popping two into his mouth. “Do you have some blow? I don’t use drugs anymore, but if you have a side hustle, I’d like to financially contribute.”
“Aisling,” Cillian said, all ice and manners, sauntered toward me. “What are you doing here, besides the obvious, which is embarrassing yourself?”
“Great question,” I chirped, all honey and smiles. “Well, brother, I started my day off at six am, worked a long shift, came back home to find our mother passed out in her own puke, then proceeded to shove my fingers down her throat and usher her to the hospital to ensure she didn’t overdose on chewable vitamins or whatever it was she decided to cram into her stomach. At this point, I tried to call my dear brothers, but both of them were too busy playing cards to pick up the phone. You didn’t even answer our emergency code word, even though I’ve never used it in my life before, so it should have tipped you off about the situation. Our mother is fine, by the way. But I’m not. I’m tired and in need of a shower and fed up with carrying the burden of gluing this family together all by myself.”
The room turned very quiet and very still, and suddenly, I was only aware of Sam, Cillian, and Hunter. No one else registered.
Sam snapped his fingers together and barked, “Everybody out. Family business. Phil, Jonathon, Archie…” he turned to his croupiers “…take it to room three, and get everyone a complimentary drink. Not from the vintage menu.”
Sam sat back on one of the vintage armchair recliners, lighting himself another cigarette as he observed us. I turned my head toward him. I was in the mood to set fire to every single relationship I’d ever had, and he was high on my list of people I wanted to snap at.